smoke touches brain
neurosis and all
have you seen it curl
like neurons thinking of clouds –
yes clouds are always in my mind
life is so barren of poetry
that the only word
that saves me is
CLOUD
a single
puff of shredded tobacco
cold in the lungs
a wild uproar of vapor
in the skyline of
awareness

I am no longer immersed
somewhat buried or submerged
but closely tied or floating
with those immediate things we call by words
I am that I am
my most irrelevant philosophy
closest to the light bulb
the breath on my nostril
to the plan and the hope
I am abstractedly here
together with the contents of plain reality
since I have nothing to say
I stare directly at the center of objects
yes, they are there
and I haven’t yet said anything in particular,
however close I feel
to the intellectual assumption
we like to nickname
the world
my words seem abandoned
like the stone someone else
kicked aside
down the thorny bushes
of something else.